


Mit Gas

by PaxVobis



Series: Trilogy [4]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Ball Sucking, Beards (Facial Hair), Blow Jobs, Casual Sex, Choking, Consensual Non-Consent, Creampie, Cuddlefucking, Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominance, Earrings, Ejaculate, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Fucking, Fantasizing, Fucking, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, Long Hair, Love Bites, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Nipple Licking, One Shot, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Prison, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Prison, Prison Sex, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Self-Denial, Self-Lubrication, Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Smoking, Spit As Lube, Spit Kink, Stubble, Sweat, Switching, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Unsafe Sex, it's a fantasy understand that he doesn't get the lube bottle out, pillow biting, shrugs it's complicated, why isn't there a tag for that?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 19:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14722338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaxVobis/pseuds/PaxVobis
Summary: “Bullshit.  You had it easy in prison.”This is what Magnus said to him, one afternoon in the sunny beer garden out the back of an Armenian café in Sacramento, cigarette in hand, a tall, thick glass of chilled lager on the table in front of him.  Like it was just a fact.  But the fact was that Magnus had never even been to prison.  In jail, Seth held, Magnus would be Seth’s fucking bitch.R18+ ONLY, explicit sex.





	Mit Gas

“Bullshit.  You had it easy in prison.”

This is what Magnus said to him, one afternoon in the sunny beer garden out the back of an Armenian café in Sacramento, cigarette in hand, a tall, thick glass of chilled lager on the table in front of him.  Seth was instantly offended, pulling his chin in to his collarbone in insult, but what was more offensive still was that Magnus didn’t even react to having hurt him.  Just watched him lazily under his heavy eyelids, the cigarette’s smoke curling up from his hand in nearly the same shapes as the grey curls that cut apart his long dark hair and beard, and didn’t even blink or smirk at it.  Like it was just a fact.

He’d read the articles, he said, and hummed at Seth’s disputes, no, he’d read it.  There was only one explanation for Seth being sectioned into a private cell, for his short sentence for what practically amounted to manslaughter (it did _not_ , the bitch didn’t _die_ , there was a distinct difference in those two verdicts), and that was that Dethklok had interfered. 

“Our old friend Chucky,” said Magnus, this time with a distant smile, “Watchin’ out for your ass – as an extension of Anger Management Boy’s ass, hmm.”

Seth was gagged by his own rage, and Magnus put out his cigarette in the ash tray on their table, throwing him an insipid, desirous look under his dark eyelashes as he sat back in the creaky wicker chair again, undersized for him, his hands folded over his chest, exposed by his open shirt.  “And it is a very expensive ass,” he remarked, and  merely listened to Seth rave about the _injustice_ of his words, as if this was exactly what he’d wanted to hear. 

Like an old friend consoling him – consoling the very rage he’d sparked, a fucking devil’s advocate.  _I know, I know_ , calm and patient, that too-cool California accent and soft purr of Eastern European, followed immediately by _but, you know..._ and sinking you again.  Just winding a knife in there, into your vulnerabilities – and by the time they got back to the hotel, it was all Seth could do to keep from slapping him or just fucking crying, so suspended he was between the way Magnus triggered his anger and guilt and in the same breath nursed it. 

Instead they just got high and fucked, and it was almost as good to negotiate deep throat off Magnus, lolling on his back on the white linen like a black panther and smirking at Seth through it all, like this was exactly what he’d wanted.  His fingertips grazing against the back of Seth’s thighs, tickling enough to make him twitch, even as he was choking on his cock.  Something game about it, y’know – when Seth gave a tough little shove too far, and spat bullshit bravado down at him, there was something loving and wanting in Magnus’ eyes, like he was really impressed, overwhelmed.  Like that was exactly what he wanted.

It never went much further than that, though.  Magnus remained unmovable on the subject of being penetrated himself; always he’d default back to _tried that, didn’t like it, no dice._   Moreover Magnus was largely just amused by Seth’s posturing, and always fought back the laughter when he was submitting – or it was submission with a caveat, a tone to it always that in fact, Magnus was the one in control of the situation.  Like he was so much more powerful than Seth, bigger and stronger and smarter, more controlled, and overpowering Seth even from the bottom.  But the fact was that Magnus had never even been to prison.  So what the fuck did he know, anyway?

In jail, Seth held, Magnus would be Seth’s fucking bitch.  He had this fantasy about Magnus, that wilful, solicitatious Magnus, that he placed in the jail just to torture the, well – the idea of the guy, y’know, spit on this cockiness, _you had it easy in prison._   Magnus had never met prison Seth, the Seth that brained a woman with a brick and had the fucking balls to sell drugs to an undercover cop.  He’d never seen the hard muscles of the prison yard, never seen the ruthless gutting of a career criminal - not, at least, outside the context of desperation, as Seth hid that side of himself for the good of his woman, who was better than him, for promises he’d made to leave that behind to Amber and his mother, for the sake of this ideal bigger than him, of family. 

The fucking fruit was lucky, in that way – he would not have been able to handle Seth, the pussy rockstar he was.  Magnus hadn’t even tasted the real world.  And in Seth’s fantasy, he knew that, and he was always waiting obediently for Seth in their shared prison cell, because it was always Seth coming back from working out to find him already there at final lock in, escorted there tight muscled and full of adrenaline with the door locking on them in the far wing Seth had occupied during his own sentence, lonely and unobserved.

With just footsteps of the guards disappearing on the vinyl into the halls outside, in the shared darkness of their cell, Seth would then approach Magnus where the guy was sitting on the bottom bunk and, god knows, whatever, reading a book, or he’d just closed it since the lights were off; he was the kind of liberal arts motherfucker who read books, y’know, and tried to talk to Seth about them, even though Seth’s actual reading comprehension was worse than most high school juniors – like, it didn’t have to be better than that, you know?  Give him one reason why it did.  There weren’t no fucking _themes_ on camgirl sites – this was the real world, not some gay fucking book club, y’know.

So he’d put the book down and turn his big brown eyes up at Seth, as Seth stood over him and stripped his sweat-stained shirt off his shoulders and dropped it to the floor.  The top of his jumpsuit tied around his waist.  He’d grab Magnus’ chin and turn it up to look at him even as the guy diverted his eyes down Seth’s muscles or to the hand that held him in a vice grip, the fingers that drew down his beard tenderly as the half-moon imprint of his thumbnail still faded on his jawbone, and then he’d flick them back up to Seth’s face when he took a handful of the man’s thick curls in his other hand and twisted his fist cruelly into them. 

With his hand locked in like that, he’d then guide Magnus over on the bunk as he climbed up onto it on his knees with him, ducking beneath the top bed.  Magnus would go easy because this Magnus, despite his posturing, knew his place and relished it, he loved Seth’s attention rough and unkind, his choking hands, his choking dick.  Laid slowly on his back with Seth straddling his chest, it would be Magnus who hooked his hands into Seth’s waistband and pulled it down to release his cock, which would already be hard, because of course it was, it always was in fantasies.  There was an image there, of his orange prison jumpsuit around his thighs, as Seth knew that in the dark orange looked like grey and Magnus did not know that; a sensation, of Magnus’ large, bony hands running warm over his ass and the back of his thighs, in the softness of his touch despite how easily he could have tried to hurt Seth an admittance of his place, an appreciation of Seth’s raw power.

An image: rubbing his stiff cock against Magnus’ face, rubbing off his smirk with his fucking foreskin and making his breath jag, his hand wound into Magnus’ hair and holding him tightly, making him smell his sweat fresh from the gym and the scent that marked him.  Eventually the hot breath against his balls would turn to thick lips, a tongue against his scrotum in lazy kisses like Magnus loved it, he really _loved it_ , bringing Seth to sighs reluctant and short with his pride. 

He liked the mental image of Magnus in a prison uniform, and looking up at him while his mouth was cradling his balls like _yes sir_ , accepting it without a word and happily.  Because it was prison rape in fantasy, but completely wanted in dynamic; another, more intense emotionality there.  Actually desired and invited.  Like _yes sir, yes Seth,_ only afraid of him in the sense of being impressed by him.  The way you could be intimidated by a lover, like they were too much for you.  That way, that was the way Seth liked to picture Magnus in oranges, his hands squeezing his ass and his lips sucking off his nuts.  Almost the way they already were, y’know, just – a slightly different dynamic.  A more exciting backdrop.  But almost.

He’d pull Magnus back then, breathless and flushed as he was dragged back by his hair, and poke his mouth with his pink cockhead and rub it over his lips until he could spit, _kiss it_ , down at him, and then he would, his thick lips drawing over the swollen pink flesh of Seth’s glans, and then he’d swallow the whole fucking thing.  Because Magnus was good at that, by sheer fucking size – in fact he gave good head, consistently, big enough to swallow, and his mouth was hotter, by degrees, than any chick Seth had fucked, and his tongue was large enough to cradle the width of Seth’s cock on it with space to spare – it was different, but it was good, was the point – maybe the best part.  Or maybe the best thing was his hand yanking at that thick spill of grey-smattered curls, or the tickle of his long beard on Seth’s balls whenever he thrust it down his throat, or maybe it was his begging eyes dark up at him, loving mute while his face was being mercilessly fucked.  Or the stripe of drool and pre-cum down his stubbled chin, or the finger through it and then rubbed against Seth’s asshole, or just the unkind sound of him gagging on it.

There were images then, a flutter like a tape zipping around a finished reel, of holding Magnus hard to his crotch and making him swallow it, sneering that down at him – or of his tongue outstretched and his eyes screwed shut, and all over his smug-ass face, adding white stripes to his beard or sticky in his hair, y’know, _huh_... but that was never the end of it, because Seth _had_ all that, when he had Magnus, just as he had sitting on his face or fingers up his ass; the beauty of the fantasy was the things he didn’t have.  The _rape_ – though it wasn’t, because in fantasy, in prison, Magnus wanted that, so it wasn’t, but it was in concept – but it wasn’t – but it was... complicated. 

It was the power of it.  In the fantasy, Magnus would offer his shoulder as Seth stripped him down to his knees, he’d make it easy for him and he’d be pallid skinned and flicker between the reality, which was his very hairy body, too fucking _much_ for Seth, and an ideal which was more sleek, waxed ass and balls, just something _for_ Seth like that, something Magnus would _never_ do in reality – just like in the fantasy he was cut-muscled, like Seth was, but in reality just skinny, that natural hard gut every man as he was creeping up to forty.  He’d accept forceful, rough kisses on his mouth from Seth as he pulled the clothes from him and turned him over, breathless and tasting like cum with his lips bitten raw, he’d have his tattoos and he’d have his ear pierced, in the fantasy, he’d have the right ear pierced because he was Seth’s fuck toy, and Seth would play with it as he turned him over, his hand on Magnus’ broad shoulder, turning the little gold ring between his fingers. 

In the fantasy, Magnus’ smooth and clean ass would already be slick, no steps in between, and he’d offer it without question, without hesitation, on his knees and elbows in the white sheets for Seth to square up behind him and grind his cock against him.  Magnus had a nice ass, strong and round thighs, and it was a crime that he didn’t like to have it fucked – idly Seth would play with the idea, _that’s why you’re in gay jail, huh_ – and then there was an image, since Seth didn’t like to fixate on the messy, gay idea of a real anus, and had mentally edited Magnus’ to be something he’d caught in a guilty porno binge, clean and pale, and the image would be Seth’s cock already in him with none of the getting there, pushing the last few inches in while hissing shit like, _yeah, take it, faggot_ , while gripping Magnus’ shoulder, and essential would be Magnus’ gasp of discomfort as he took him all the way, all in one fucking go.

There would be dialogue, like _bitch_ and _faggot_ and _you fucking love it, you love my fucking dick in your ass, don’t you,_ hissed into his ear with his hair brushed over his shoulder, and in the fantasy Magnus would respond in breathless whispers that he did, and _yes_ , and every glimpse of his face that Seth got bent over him and crushing him into the pillow he clutched would be seized by ecstasy, screwed up and open mouthed as Seth fucked him.  And then Seth would fuck him hard, pulling his hair, and it would feel fucking amazing – smooth and tight and pinching in on him, his tight ass cheeks bounced against Seth’s thighs and the slap of his nuts against Magnus’ taint, and Magnus would struggle to keep his grunts of pleasure and discomfort quiet and bite down on the pillow to stop himself. 

At some point he’d cum, Seth wouldn’t bother imagining how just that he would, and it’d be _humiliating,_ like his precum stringing from his hard cock straining untouched beneath him as Seth fucked him before he shot, and later he’d have to fucking sleep in it, since where else was he gonna sleep?  And Seth wouldn’t give a fuck, he’d just take his pleasure in his hard abs and his cock in Magnus’ ass until he was about to cum, and then he’d treat himself to another flutter to push himself over the edge, of Magnus’ ass spasming when he came, and then of cramming deep into him just like Magnus did to him, and coating the fucker’s insides with his cum, and twisting his face so that Seth could see it while he unloaded inside him, watch him _feel it_.  And of – none of the pulling out, because that shit was boring, but of the white lines of semen drooling from his asshole and down the back of his balls, or of shooting directly onto his pink, fucked ass, the cheeks red, in thick ropes that crossed him like lashes and marked him. 

And that was usually enough.  Seth would have cum, panting, on his own belly and have to gather himself to clean it up and get on with his day.  And he questioned these fantasies, but not hard – as he was gradually coming around to the idea that maybe he liked to fuck men, and maybe a man he liked to fuck was Magnus.  It just made sense that this was something he’d want, for Magnus to get down on his knees for him and do whatever he even thought of, let alone said.  That someone like Magnus, who by all accounts could have broken Seth’s neck with his hands, if he so wished, would bow to the force of his personality, his viciousness, his street cred.  It made sense.  And Seth was finding that he was surprisingly okay with that.

He was _not_ okay with the other prison fantasy, which would usually grasp him when he was already trying to play out the first one in the little theatre of his head; especially when he was tired, or when he’d already spent time with Magnus, either retiring back to his hotel alone or on the other side of a long-haul flight, exhausting him enough that his mind could take itself by surprise.  If he was clever enough to have come up with the excuse, he could have believed that Magnus had gotten into his head and was controlling these – that if fantasy jail bitch Magnus was an invention of Seth’s, then this other Magnus was an invention of Magnus, and not his own mind.  But Seth was not that creative, and there was no one else in his brain but himself, and if king pin Seth in his dominant fantasy was Seth, then so was prison bitch Magnus, just sectioned off, another part of himself that he’d detached just to fuck.  So just as Magnus’ playful ribbing and triggering made Seth want to slap him, so it pulled this dark, hateful thing out of him like a tapeworm, long and feeding on his insides, keeping his life skinny and wasted.  If he couldn’t fight it off, he’d just give in to it.  An orgasm was still an orgasm, even if you hated how it came to you.  As Seth had learned many times, it was better not to think too hard.

In this fantasy, Magnus was still waiting for him, and Seth was still coming back from the gym.  He’d still be reading his book, or just finishing it, but he’d be lying on the bed and look up when he noticed Seth get manhandled into their cell.  Seth, exhausted, would come to the bed – take off his undershirt – and Magnus would have his jumpsuit around his hips, his bare, hairy chest on display, his pierced nipples, his tattoos, the smell of him.  Magnus would have moved away from him enough that he couldn’t just grab him, he’d be too tired to grab him, he’d just sit beside him.  He’d just sit.  And then he’d kick off his shoes and socks, and collapse down by Magnus’ side, lying face up on the sheets of the narrow bottom bunk, staring up at the top one, his head resting on Magnus’ arm.

Which would move, as Magnus would put aside his book, and he wouldn’t even ask how Seth was or anything as he folded over him, turning him with his own body, until they were lying chest to back, Magnus’ enormous, long form scooping up Seth’s and his warm hand stroking his chest and abs, his face crushed into the nape of Seth’s neck and kissing with hot breath, uninvited but welcome all the same.  Like they had a similar pact, like Magnus’ searching hand would roll a gold ring in Seth’s ear as he kissed and nipped the shell of it, letting him know what was coming, or a brand in a dungeon – but that was another fantasy, a sicker one, and Seth didn’t like to let it get that far, in case Charles could read his mind and remembered that he didn’t have that brand, like all the klokateers did – no.  He often stopped it, before that point. 

In this barely allowable fantasy, Seth was aware of getting hard, of how it happened slowly and the warmth and tightness that rushed into him and set his skin pricking, as Magnus’ big, clawed hand explored his body and he ground up against him, enveloping him, his fingers grazing lower down the front of his jumpsuit and over his thighs and ass, squeezing it as he kissed Seth’s neck – and sucked it, marked him, as he seemed to love doing, always sending Seth home with livid dark marks ringing his throat.  He’d hum in Seth’s ear and he’d feel it all through his body, and he’d feel his long hard on ground between his ass cheeks through their uniforms as Magnus crushed against him and rubbed his cock, and the guilty part of it was that in his fantasy, he’d grind back, like the little bitch he was – would be.  In a fantasy.  The fact that he did that in real life was... just situational.  It just felt good.  It wasn’t tied up like this, in power, in romance – it was different.

In this fantasy, Magnus would check the cell door, as if he was concerned that anyone would watch them – crazy, in a fantasy, but maybe it was the thought that he would that was exciting – that he was wary, or that he was looking out for Seth, or that he was so greedy he wanted to make sure no one else enjoyed this, enjoyed Seth, the way he did.  Once Seth had accepted that this was the fantasy he was going to have, yeah, whatever, then Magnus would get up carefully from him and let him turn onto his back, subject to slow kisses and touches from long fingers on his tender throat, his jaw cradled as Magnus kissed him deep and his curls fell around his face.  Sometimes, when this happened, his mouth would taste like Amber’s pussy – sometimes, just of cigarettes and weed.  He’d work his way down, then, from Seth’s jaw to his throat, from his throat to his collarbones, to sucking and nipping his nipples, painful pleasure enough to clutch the sheets. 

From his nipples to his belly, his muscles, the trail of his hazel pubic hair, dragging his jumpsuit off his legs, and sharp teeth and painful sucking on his inside thighs, his knees up on broad shoulders, and a tongue up his ass.  Or sometimes it’d be a sixty-nine with Seth kneeling over him, and Seth would be choking on his thick cock, crammed right to the back of his throat, and Magnus would eat his ass.  Because even with Seth as his bitch, in Seth’s fantasies, Magnus loved to suck ass.  That was what really made him a faggot – that he loved it, that he was into it, that he was good at it.  And nothing that Seth did would ever be as fucked as that – or feel as nice.

When Seth was sick of plateauing, he’d let the fantasy progress – with Magnus surfacing with his knees balanced on his big, clawed hands, and sinking back over his body with his legs spread and up by his hips, and the ass suck would be enough in this fantasy, no lube needed, and Magnus’ mouth would never taste like ass either when he kissed him again – or more often, when he positioned himself on top of Seth, his cock heavy and hot and rubbing against his slippery asshole, and let a string of drool drop over the lip of his mocking smile, expecting Seth to take it – and he would, he would do it, he’d open his mouth and let it drip cool onto his tongue, tasting like nothing, like spit, like humiliation.  And then Magnus would laugh, and wipe the drool from cock sucking from Seth’s lips with his hand – whether Seth had sucked it in the fantasy or not, didn’t matter – and purr at him, _ah, you love that, don’t you, Seth?_   And Seth would, he’d love that, just as he’d love every inch of Magnus’ cock pushed up his slick ass and opening him up inside, throbbing and hot and fucking hard, _fuck!_   He’d love it, and his cock would strain and ache in his hand at the thought of it, and _god_ , he hated that he did.

Seth would be next to mute in this fantasy, if only because Magnus’ hand was so often slammed over his mouth or wrapped around his throat.  Magnus would not be.  He’d fuck Seth, gently and slowly at first, and tell him things in his deep, sharp-edged Californian accent like _mm, I love that,_ _Seth_ , and _keep your eyes on me_ , and _Seth?  Seth..._ – grinning, sharp-toothed like a coyote or something, fuck – _you like that, don’t you?_ \- as if he was mocking him, gently chuckling at him – _you’re so pretty when you’re about to cum – I told you it was easy, didn’t I? – you’re so **pretty**_.  So pretty that it was as if, predatory, Magnus’ grip would start to slip, on Seth’s sweaty neck, his hand raked through Seth’s short hair, and then on his sluggish rhythm, panting and puffing and looking down between their sweaty bodies at his own cock piercing Seth, which Seth would see too, just as he could feel it sliding inside him, just as he could feel his tight nuts push up against his tailbone and stick from their sweat. 

Magnus was a moaner in fantasy as he was in reality, and he wouldn’t hold it back as he pushed harder and faster, and Seth would be forced to grasp the pillow or a handful of greasy curls as the pace increased, his toes curling by Magnus’ ribs.  Then there’d be a game, as in real life, where Magnus’ fought to keep Seth’s eyes on him, something he bewilderingly found essential for orgasm, clutching Seth’s jaw with his fingers squeezing his cheeks and turning his face to stay locked on his own as he dripped sweat and perished over him.  By the time he was about to cum – that _Seth_ was about to cum – he’d be crushing Seth’s face and be flushed red from his messy hair all down his chest, and gasping like he was having a heart attack, and pounding his ass so hard that Seth would regret it the next day – no, _harder_ , since in fantasies it could be _harder_ , and Seth would never say _no_ , it could be so hard he felt it stab basically into his belly from inside, it could be so hard it felt like it was gonna punch out his throat and make him choke on his own tongue.  It could swell so thick it stretched him so that he could feel it, and Magnus’ snap of eye contact – the way his brown eyes pin-pricked, even in the dark of a cell – would spark painfully like an electric shock, and his snarl of orgasm wouldn’t be laced with helplessness and stupidity like it really was, but animal and violent.  And because it was a fantasy, and Seth never used fucking condoms in his fantasies, he could feel every pulse into him, and he’d embellish it with a fantasy of thick heat, pretend that he could feel it pumped inside himself. 

And then he’d cum.  Because what was the point of letting it go on longer than that.  Clean up, roll over in bed, and clutch a pillow to himself as he tried not to think about it and let sleep wash over him.  He didn’t have to wonder why he wanted that.  It was just a fantasy, like all the other sick shit he fantasied about – so what if it had real elements, they were different.  Just sensations.  Just because it felt good to have stuff shoved up your ass, just because Magnus happened to have something attached to him that was easy to shove.  He didn’t want to really be Magnus’ bitch, not in the same way he wanted Magnus to be his bitch – it was illogical, for both, and so only one was true.  Seth would choose which one, and draw a thick line meanwhile between what was a fantasy and what was real, as he had all his life.  Because it was obvious which one was more realistic.

 Because Magnus had never been in jail.

And that was just a fact.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading - comments always appreciated.


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